Suspicion | The Billionaire Murders: The hunt for the killers of Honey and Barry Sherman - S3 40 Years Cold | E4 The Impact

Episode Date: July 8, 2024

With court decisions in place, do Tice and Gilmour’s families ever find closure? The complicated conclusion of how grief and relief live side by side for everyone involved. The following episode discusses sexual assault and murder. If you’re impacted by any of our themes, you can reach out to the Canadian Association of Sexual Assault Centres at casac.ca to help you find a centre close to where you live.  Toronto Star subscribers will also get exclusive early access to all episodes on June 17. Non subscribers will get new episodes each Monday. If you are not a Star subscriber, please visit thestar.com/subscribe. Suspicion seasons 1 and 2, ”Death in a Small Town” and “The Billionaire Murders: The hunt for the killers of Honey and Barry Sherman,” were hosted by Kevin Donovan and are available in this feed.  Audio sources: CTV News Northern Ontario, CTV Toronto, Global News  

This podcast contains descriptions of sexual assault and murder. If you're impacted by the themes of this episode, we have resources in our show notes. Toronto police detective Steeze Smith and his team had just made a monumental, if unconventional, arrest. They'd just caught Joseph George Sutherland, the man they were certain raped and killed Aaron Gilmore and Susan Tice in 1983. It was time for Smith to make the phone calls the victims' families had been awaiting for 40 years. I was watching the football game with a couple of friends. I had sort of finished work that afternoon and we all decided to sort of get together and have a beer and watch the football game with a couple of friends. I had sort of finished work that afternoon

and we all decided to sort of get together and have a beer and watch the football game. And whenever Steve called me, it would always come up sort of no-caller ID. I turned to my best friend John and I was like, I'll be right back. We go outside and Steve is on the line and just sort of says, hey, can you talk?

And I said, yep. I said, yeah, I can talk. And he goes, we got him. And yeah, like I broke into tears, like I'm about to do now. It was, yeah, it was an incredible piece of news. It was, I was literally crying out loud and at the same time screaming at the top of my lungs.

It was 40 years of just letting go. I felt like it still feels like I'd taken off a 200 pound backpack. I remember going back into the bar and I couldn't really say anything. I sort of looked at my friend John and he said, everything okay? And I said, it was the police. And he sort of known that they were working on this whole thing and he said, everything okay?

And I just remember like, I said, let's go outside for a second and I basically told him the news. And then, you know, you got two 50-year-old guys outside on Yonge Street jumping up and down and crying. And it was like, it was a cool moment. For Christian, the call came when she was home alone in her Guelph apartment, where her mother's charcoal paintings hang on the walls.

As she received updates about the investigation's progress in recent months, she'd allowed herself to believe that news about the case could be coming any day. And when it did, she held her own kind of celebration. When they had the final breakthrough because of the DNA, I was pretty confident. So I was already preparing, you know, so I've had like a couple years percolating. Very optimistic that they were gonna catch up. Yes, there was a little dancing in the kitchen and I got a drink, toast. And yet, while the arrest brought a definitive answer to the question that

had hung over her life, there was something it could never bring. Hate that word. You'll never have closure. It's one of my saddest things that she's never had justice. And I'm not religious, but I do believe in God. And I do have a thing about souls, that we are at peace or not at peace. And it always troubled me that obviously she died in such a violent way that it would hurt her soul.

And so I was always very worried about that. And so finally catching him, I'm like, oh, we got him. We got him for her, and hopefully now she can be at peace. And so it was really a happy thing for her, not for me, a happy thing for her. From the Toronto Star, I'm Wendy Gillis. And I'm Betsy Powell. And this is 40 Years Cold. Episode 4 – The Impact After admitting his guilt to his former OPP officer friend Randy Cota in November 2022,

the Toronto police escorted Sutherland back to Southern Ontario. His new address was now the Toronto South Detention Centre, a terrible place to be anytime, but particularly during a global pandemic. For 39 years, their families and police never gave up. Today, investigators announcing 61-year-old Joseph George Sutherland has been arrested and charged with two counts of first degree murder. After retaining a lawyer, Sutherland made multiple court appearances, mostly via Zoom, throughout 2023, which is typical in the run-up to a trial. But then something happened, and that trial never came. Something happened, and that trial never came. Sutherland waived the preliminary hearing and consented to his committal to the Superior

Court of Justice, the court that hears the most serious cases. And then just before Canadian Thanksgiving weekend in early October 2023, Sutherland came to court and pleaded guilty to two counts of second-degree murder. This meant that there was no need for prosecutors to prove that he had committed these awful crimes, nor would the victims' families have to relive the horror. Sutherland probably realized he had little chance of being proven not guilty, since they had DNA that pinned him to the crimes. Pleading guilty can sometimes result in a reduced punishment.

Maybe he was hoping for that. The hearing was fairly brief. The judge adjourned the case for several months to allow for the preparation of a Gledu report that would delve into Sutherland's background as an Indigenous offender. It would be presented during the sentencing. At the University Avenue Court, the sentencing hearings begun for a man who pleaded guilty to two murders in 1983. On a sunny March 4th, 2024 morning, family and friends of Aaron Gilmore and Susan Tice gathered at Toronto's downtown Superior Courthouse for Sutherland's sentencing hearing. On the morning of the 24th of July, in the middle of the night of the 24th of July, on the morning of the 24th of July,

on the 24th of July, on the 24th of July, on the 24th of July, on the 24th of July, on the 24th of July, on the 24th of July, on the 24th of July, on the 24th of July,

on the 24th of July, on the 24th of July, on the sixth floor inside the largest courtroom because they knew it would be a packed house. For Sutherland's sentencing hearing, a much smaller courtroom was chosen, which was unfortunate because it left approximately a dozen spectators standing at the back. Maybe they didn't consider just how many had been waiting for this day. Emotions in the courtroom were raw as everyone braced to hear what was to come. For some, it was the first time members of Susan's family

met members of Erin's family. They embraced, hands on the shoulder, a knowing look in their eye. For most, it was their first time seeing Sutherland in the flesh, who sat in the prisoner's box wearing a white dress shirt, jeans, and his grey lace black hair tied into a bun. Since Sutherland had pled guilty, that carries an automatic life sentence in Canada. The

only thing for Justice Maureen Forstel to decide was Sutherland's parole eligibility. A sentencing hearing in Ontario typically unfolds with the defense and prosecution recommending the period of parole ineligibility. The prosecution asked that Sutherland serve 22 years before being eligible for parole. The defense asked for 18 years. In either case, Sutherland would be in his 80s by the time he can ask to be released. But before the defense or prosecution

offer those recommendations, comes something called the victim impact statements. This is where those close to the victims address the court to try to summarize how these crimes have affected their lives. Nearly a dozen people who were close to Erin and Susan submitted a statement and some of those people were there in person. losing a mother, sister, child, friend in such a gruesome way has had a lasting emotional and psychological effect over how they'd lived their lives. Forty years have now passed. Nearly all of these people have lived with the pain longer than they've lived without it. Ben Tice, son of Susan Tice, read his impact statement that day. Here's an excerpt read by a

voice actor. I will do my best to convey the impact on me, yet I truly don't know if I'll be able to fully communicate and articulate the immense and devastating impact on my life of this brutal sexual assault and murder of Susan Tice, my mother. My last conversation with her was not the best. As a young man forging my way, we had a difficult parent-son call and it ended as I hung up on her. Yes, this haunts me. The exhaustion I felt for years and as I relive this, I feel now. The soul-crushing feeling deep within me. I find it hard some days to get out of bed. Still.

I've had this reoccurring dream for years. Forty years. I'm walking in a large open square, in different places in the world, and I see my mom, Susan. I rush to catch up to her, and as I get close, I trip or someone steps in front of me, and she disappears. Loss repeats itself in my dreams. After the funeral, as she was laid to rest, I returned to the West and truly became an orphan. No contact with my father, the West and truly became an orphan. No contact with my father, no communication with Susan's parents. Alone in the world, much like my brothers and sister. And even to this day, I can say with sadness that we are still castaways and have little to no family bond.

We'll be right back. A Canadian billionaire and his wife are murdered, bodies staged in a bizarre tableau on the deck of their indoor swimming pool? Was it big business, an angry investor, or someone closer? Join me, Kevin Donovan, in my years-long search for answers in the mysterious case of Barry and Honey Sherman. The Billionaire Murders, part of our Suspicion series, is available wherever you listen to podcasts. Bonus content with a Toronto Star or Apple Podcast subscription. Jason Tice, Susan's youngest son, then rose from the front of the court to tell Sutherland

how he'd stolen someone who'd shown him unwavering love. As an adopted child born two days after his mother's birthday, he said he liked thinking of himself as her birthday gift. Here's an excerpt from his impact statement, read by a voice actor. I was 13 when she died. Not yet an adult, but no longer a child. I was away at summer camp to help ease the transition of moving across the country after a difficult couple of years in Calgary.

I don't even know what our last words were. I've battled with anxiety and depression for most of my life. Most of it centered around feeling powerless before a lack of agency in my own life. This is where it began. You don't ever truly heal from this kind of thing. You move on, you adapt, but emotional scars never really stop aching. To this day, I'm not particularly close to many people. I find it difficult to trust and I rarely allow others to get close enough to understand

my emotions. I do not regret who I've become, but it's not the person I expected. As a child, I used to fantasize about vengeance. I wanted a visceral sense of justice equal to my rage and loss. Now, in the twilight of my grief, there is little solace to be found in thoughts of retribution. There is certainly no joy, only grim acceptance. No punishment can undo the harm inflicted upon my family. ["The Last Supper"] Joseph George Sutherland had been shaped by systemic racism and Canada's residential schools,

which have caused widespread intergenerational trauma that continues today. But as the relatives of his victims rose one by one to address the court, it was undeniable that Sutherland's actions had set off a wholly new cycle of generational pain. The Thai siblings said their mother's killing tore their once close family apart. At least two of them suspected their father. Today, the siblings are virtually estranged. Kaylin McCowen, Erin's youngest brother,

said her death was bound into every thread of my being and that of my family. Sean McCowen's children, Carrie and Tim, grew up hearing happy stories of their aunt Erin, but also saw the ever-present weight of loss in their dad. It was especially apparent at Christmas, the season when Erin was murdered. There is often a feeling that a piece is missing, they wrote. As Sean stepped to the podium to speak, he cast a long glance at Sutherland, sitting just feet away, head down in the prisoner's box.

I have nothing but hatred for you, he said. He told the court how he had to sit down with his kids and explain that a, quote, bad person had stolen their aunt at an age where they should have been playing with Aaron's children. At this line, Sutherland gave a rare response, slowly nodding his head. After Sutherland's arrest, Sean's friends gave him a bracelet engraved with a number. 14,219. A count of the days Aaron's family had to wait for her killer to be caught. Living through nearly all of those days was Anna, Aaron's mother.

She died just two years before his arrest. Sean told the court his mother was never the same after the murder of her first child, her only daughter. Here's Sean in an interview, reading from his statement. And make no mistake, when you murdered Aaron, you also killed a part of our mom. She had to cope not only with the murder and loss of her beautiful daughter, but mom also had to find the strength to carry on and figure out how to make sure her two young sons were

able to process their loss and move forward. She was a single mom who had to bury her daughter, take care of her sons, and find time to figure out how to keep living herself. Mom worked hard to not let your rape and murder of Erin shatter her two boys, but I don't think she ever had time to properly grieve herself. She carried it with her for the rest of her life. She was, as many of her friends have told me, never the same.

Don Johnson, Aaron's stepdad, saw the brave face Anna put on for her boys. He saw when the mask came off too. Don, now in his late 80s, had been inside that packed courtroom, laying eyes on Aaron's killer when his late wife could not. Here's a voice actor reading from his statement.

My wife, Anna, never recovered. She talked about Aaron every single day. She fell into a huge depression and she cried all the time. She stopped believing in God. It wasn't just that Erin was murdered, of course. It was the sexual violence she experienced in her final moments, among any mother's worst fears for a daughter, born of a fear she knows all too well herself, something all women learn to fear.

When I interviewed Christian, she told me that despite her introverted nature, she felt a responsibility to speak in court about Sutherland's crimes, realizing she is the sole woman among the surviving close relatives of his victims. Well, because this is violence against women. So for me, having two women brutalize the way they were, having a female perspective to kind of demonstrate that you have to understand the consequences, that they have like this ripple effect. And having a female perspective, I really felt it was important to understand the fear aspect because it changed my life. And I think it's important

to understand how violence has all these lapsing effects. For a year after her mother's death, Christian had been in the dark about what exactly had happened to her mom in her final moments. Then, Chisie, her mom's close friend, sat her down. All I was told was that she was killed. It wasn't a robbery or anything. And I just couldn't understand why someone would break in and just kill somebody. So I was having dinner with Chizzie and I was just going, like, I don't understand like why somebody would break into somebody's house just to kill them. And that's when she told me she was raped. And I was like, Oh my God, you can't imagine the terror, like how scared she would have been. And to have to go through that is just so hard and I feel so bad for her.

And after that, Christian, who at 17 was leaving girlhood behind, simply couldn't be alone in her father's house. She distinctly remembers the terror of a time her dad stayed out all night. I stayed up all night sitting on the stairs crying because this whole thing taught me that men are predators. That men do bad things. That sex is a weapon. That you're not safe.

As a series of victim impact statements were read out, some common themes arose, grief, anger, vengeance. Christian shared some of those emotions, but of everyone, she spoke the most about fear, how it had closed her off and altered her life. She has trust in relationship issues, she told the court. Today, at 57, she is single and has no kids. She agreed to read a selection from her statement in an interview. Grief is such a complicated emotion. It leaves a permanent mark. It does not go away. Especially

when the source of that grief is from a violent action. It's always a dark shadow lurking in the background in the things I do and say. I put a wall around my heart to protect myself from feeling that emptiness and loss. I put a wall around my heart to protect myself from feeling that emptiness and loss. I was afraid to let myself feel that pain, worried it would destroy me all over again. So the wall became a protective buffer, a security blanket. I had no idea how big this wall became because it changed my behavior. For example, I keep a squeaking front door as an early alarm system. I can't keep windows open in the front of my apartment

for fear someone will break in. I keep a baseball bat in my bedroom. I stay up at night and feel more comfortable if I can sleep during the day. I've become more aware of my surroundings at night. I'm less trustworthy of strangers. I'm hyper-vigilant at parties, watching what women are drinking and the way men act towards them. There are anxieties and panic when I hear a strange noise at night.

I make sure my bat is close by. I've gone through so many sleepless nights worrying that this evil would find me, the same way it found my mom. We'll be right back. please visit thestar.com for more information. After all the victims had spoken and lawyers traded arguments about parole eligibility, it was time for the final step in the sentencing process. The judge asked Sutherland

if he wanted an opportunity to speak. He rose from the prisoner's box, slowly unfolded a piece of paper, and in a halting voice gave a brief apology. I'm sorry, he began weakly, clearing his throat. I'm sorry for taking your loved ones away. Sutherland wondered aloud what had led him to commit his crimes. Perhaps he was too alone, he said, lacking the support of family and friends to give him the guidance he needed as a young man. He told the court he was

remorseful for his crimes. In the Gladue report, he'd said he'd considered turning himself in at various points in his life, but didn't, choosing instead to try to forget what he'd done. Then Sutherland said shortly after the killings, he'd gone on a spirit quest. He said he entered the spirit world and encountered his victims who were waiting.

Susan Tice was warm and kind, he said, and forgave him. But Erin's spirit was young and angry, and she did not forgive me, Sutherland said, crying. This made him sad, but he understood, he said. After Sutherland's apology, Judge Forrestell told the court that she'd need some time to consider what she'd heard. She set a new date to give her sentence, asking everyone to reconvene in a few weeks. After an intensely emotional day, family members filed out of the courtroom. The ordeal wasn't quite done.

I sat down with Sean to ask what it had been like to hear Sutherland's words. For me, it was sort of a case of really too little, too late. I think I was sort of, I don't think there were any words really for me that were going to fill the void, so to speak, or try to explain what happened. I think it's amazing how much remorse or apologies one can find after they've been caught. He had 40 years to come forward. He claimed that he wanted to live the life of a good man, and he had realized that he had done these things,

and he had 40 years to sort of make a move, come forward, and do the right thing, and that just never happened. Sean also found it upsetting to hear about Sutherland's spirit quest. The families hadn't known for sure that he would even speak. And Sean was especially taken aback by that part of his statement. He wasn't alone. Several people in court had shifted uncomfortably at this point in Sutherland's address. I think, again, it was, I found it a little bit insulting in a way.

I can completely understand what he's trying to say, but to stand up and tell our families that he went and asked Aaron and Susan for forgiveness, and that Susan forgave him and Aaron did not. It's just inconceivable to me that you can stand up and tell the families that, or one of the families that his victim and their mother forgave him on his spirit quest. I'm not gonna pretend to sit here and know a lot

about spirit quests, but I'm no expert on them, obviously, but at the same time, it seems to me a bit of a reach to sort of use that to try to explain away two murders of two great women and leaving a legacy of loss for the families behind. And then at the end of it, you're going to stand up and say that you were forgiven. I just found it completely wrong in every way.

Though not unmoved by learning the details of Sutherland's life, for Sean it couldn't begin to explain his actions, and why he'd left his victims' families suspended in their grief and confusion for decades. He obviously had an absolutely appalling childhood, like just in every sense. He lived a very, very hard life and was abused and was part of the residential school system. Nobody would wish that on anyone, clearly. However, from my perspective, 40 years went by.

And I think that if this had all come out and he had come forward five years, 10 years after the fact, but it was 40 years later and he never came forward and he was apprehended. So I have sympathy for the life that he led, but at the same time, for me, it's overwhelmed by the fact that what he did, A, and B, that it took him, you know, he was a ghost.

He was never coming forward. But it was different for Christian. As she sat quietly near the front of the court, listening to the man who took her mom away, she had an unexpected emotion. I actually really liked what he had to say, and it really made me feel better. And I feel so much more compassionate towards him,

and yet the other side of me is like, what is wrong with you? You should be hating this man. But I couldn't help it. I, when he cried and he was sorry, and I was so relieved because I was terrified that he was gonna be this sociopath of laughter and cold indifference,

and to see that there's a human being there. I hate to say it, like, it, it, I don't know what's wrong with me, but I felt a lot more compassion and then hearing his story made it even worse. I didn't like that he wanted my forgiveness because that's not going to happen, but I liked that he cried and I liked that he showed emotion and I liked that he had the spirit of sin. I just made me feel better about it instead of having this mindless monster. Like he had a horrible life too and I can't help but feel compassion for that. And yeah, it's just too bad that it manifested its way that

it did and there's such a tragedy here. It's really hard. On March 22, 2024, the judge was ready with her decision. On a Friday afternoon, we piled back into the courtroom. They chose a bigger room this time. Justice Maureen Forstel told Sutherland that in addition to facing a mandatory life sentence, he would have to serve 21 years in prison before becoming eligible to apply for parole. The judge summarized his quote profoundly serious crimes.

She said there were numerous aggravating factors, such as the fact that women's deaths weren't quick nor painless. They were also killed in their own homes, quote, which should have been places of sanctuary. Forstell also referenced the deeply entrenched pain and grief of the surviving friends and family members. Turning to Sutherland, the judge said his degree of moral blameworthiness was impacted

by factors set out in the Gladue report, such as his attendance at St. Anne's. Residential school impacted his family bonds, caused a loss of connection to his language and culture, she said, adding he was also impacted by sexual abuse and alcoholism. The judge said she also considered Sutherland's guilty pleas to be mitigating factors on the length of his sentence. When someone owns up to a crime, it suggests he or she feels remorse. However, Forstall found Sutherland has, quote, "'not shown real remorse.'" She explained why. When Sutherland had told the court about that spirit quest,

the one where he encountered both his victims and asked for forgiveness, he said it was a turning point for him. One where he resolved to follow the path of a good human being. Yet he also told the author of the Gledu report that he had blocked the memory of his actions in order to protect himself. The judge asked, if his memory lapse was genuine, how had he embarked on this spirit quest if he lacked memories of the murders?

And if his memory was so faulty, how did he know what the police would find when his DNA was analyzed in 2022? Nor had Sutherland given the Gle Du report writer any indication why he committed the murders. The judge concluded Sutherland had, quote, demonstrated no willingness to examine his actions. That day, Sutherland showed no reaction to any of this

before he was cuffed and led out of court as the victim's loved ones stood and watched in silence. The cold case killer who murdered two Toronto women in separate attacks more than 40 years ago has now been sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole for 20 years. After the judge sentenced Sutherland, a handful of reporters gathered outside, near the court's revolving side door, the usual spot where journalists scrum the players in big court cases. It was unseasonably cold. Giant, feathery flecks of snow whipped around, falling from a grey sky, collecting in everyone's hair and on the waiting microphones.

It was the most snow Toronto saw all winter, and it felt somehow fitting, like somber confetti. It wasn't a celebration exactly, but it was a victory, if bittersweet. Inside, the seemingly impossible had just happened. The man who'd killed Aaron and Susan four decades before was now behind bars, where he'll likely live out the rest of his days. Police meanwhile will continue to investigate any potential links to unsolved cases, but so far have found no evidence he committed any other crimes. At dusk, as the court dimmed its lights

and Toronto rush hour traffic snarled around us, Sean and Christian emerged to share how it felt to get to the end of a 40-year marathon. I think it was a fair number. You know, you want to see a number of a hundred, but at the same time, 21 years is a pretty decent outcome, I think. Sort of see justice for Aaron and Susan, and I think my mom would be would be thrilled that, you know, someone's finally facing life in prison. It's been a really long road.

You can't really quantify it with the, I don't know, it's 40 years, it's a long time. There's no closure, there's no justice. It's something that stays with you. And we're just happy that, you know, we bought the guy, he's finally gonna be put in jail. And for me, I feel safe now. 40 Years Cold was written by me, your host, Wendy Gillis. And me, your host, Betsy Powell, and Julia De Laurentiis Johnston. Julia produced this series along with Sean Pattendon.

Sean also wrote our theme music and mixed the show. Our executive producer is JP Fozo. Special thanks to editors Ed Tubb, Doug Cudmore, and Grant Ellis. And to the star librarians Astrid Lang and Rick Schneider.